


All I Want For Christmas

by Trychtopus



Category: Let's Play (Webcomic)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Jealousy, Mistletoe, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trychtopus/pseuds/Trychtopus
Summary: Lucy decides to spice up the Christmas cheer in the office, leading to some unexpected experiences for boss and assistant.
Relationships: Charles Jones/Sam Young
Comments: 36
Kudos: 527





	1. Chapter 1

“The rain is nice, isn’t it?”

Sam watched in mild disinterest as the windshield wipers swish-swished their path across the windshield, sweeping away the increasing number of droplets that were crashing down upon the glass. This time of the year always seemed to leave her feeling a bit despondent; perhaps it was her inability to separate it from all the days she’d spent gazing out the window of her hospital room, isolated from the overwhelming cheer outside, or maybe it was just the persistent gloom that plagued the sky. Nevertheless, she pondered it for a moment, then glanced over at Charles. “You think so?”

He’d chosen a pale purple shirt today. It contrasted well with the deep grey of his necktie. They were stuck in traffic on their way to work, and for once, Sam was feeling more grateful than nervous that Charles had found her at the bus stop. The rain was picking up and in her haste to leave the apartment this morning, she’d forgotten her umbrella. She still found it a bit odd that he so frequently just happened to be driving past a stop that was entirely out of the way of his commute to work, but today, she wasn’t about to complain. Still, the man was an enigma to her, offering only bits and pieces of himself in passing conversation, but never enough for her to feel like she truly had a grasp on his overall personality. Charles had never given her any indication that he would be offended if she asked more of him, but to her, he was still her boss more so than her friend, and she couldn’t help but shake the feeling that it would be inappropriate to try.

swish-swish

“I suppose it reminds me of home.”

Home. Wales, for him. Truth be told, Sam wasn’t even entirely confident she could find Wales on a map, much less describe its meteorological patterns. He didn’t mention it often, and Sam didn’t ask, but then again, she never had a reason to. “Does it rain there often?”

“Yes, more often than not.”

They crept forward a few more inches. Distantly, she heard someone laying on their horn. There he went again, offering only enough to satisfy the answer to her question. If she weren’t already so used to his stoicism, she might have found it irritating. “Does it snow there for Christmas?”

Charles leaned against the driver side door, unreadable for a moment, then sighed quietly. “Some areas get a dusting here and there, but most do not.” He fiddled briefly with the wiper controls, increasing their speed to catch up with the rainfall outside. Sam faltered for a way to continue the conversation but found herself coming up with nothing, mildly frustrated with her inability to maintain small talk, even with someone like her own boss. Today was the day that the office Christmas party would be held, and Sam was already feeling nervous enough as it was. It wasn’t that she felt uncomfortable with the people, per se, so much as she never quite felt like she properly fit into all of the celebratory activities. She’d much rather just hand off her secret santa gift and be done with it, but it was never quite that easy.

Finally, the light turned, and Sam watched with mild interest as Charles shifted into first gear with ease. She wondered how long it took him to learn how to drive, especially a finely tuned car like he had. She’d never pegged him as a car guy, but it was obvious that he was very specific even with his own possessions. Her feet shuffled around her bag on the floor; even the floor mats were meticulously clean. It was no wonder she frequently felt like an intruder into his perfectly-kept world. Her eyes drew back to her bag, and she shifted uncomfortably, knowing that Charles’ present was contained within. She’d drawn him as her secret santa buddy and immediately felt as though it may have been easier if she’d drawn Santa Claus, himself.

“Are you looking forward to the festivities today, Miss Young?” 

He was throwing her a bone, and she knew it.

“I was never very good at parties. I always kind of feel like I--” She didn’t dare say she didn’t feel like she fit in. Charles would likely answer it by having her do two exercises a day instead of one. “--like I could be doing more productive things with my time.”

As expected, a pale golden eyebrow rose in response. He always saw right through her. Thankfully, this time, he didn’t call her on it.

They finished the rest of their commute in silence, finally coming to rest in Charles’ usual parking space in the garage. She wondered momentarily if she could just give him his gift now and save herself the public embarrassment later, but in the brief moment she took to contemplate, Charles was already out of the car and retrieving his jacket from the trunk. She sighed. Damn his efficiency. Like clockwork, he made his way around to her door and opened it gently, offering her his hand to help her out.

She tried to suppress the blush that ultimately made it to her cheeks anyway when she not only noticed how small her hand was in comparison to his, but how warm his skin felt against her own as he helped her out of the car. She knew he was only being polite, as he’d stated to her before, but it still felt kind of nice to be treated like such a lady once in a while. 

Well, that, and the fact that she seemed to be about as graceful as a newly birthed antelope when Charles was around. For all she knew, if he didn’t help her out of the car, she’d probably still be struggling her way out by lunchtime. Although it was becoming easier day by day to navigate the office in her new attire, she still hated the way her ankles wobbled in the high heeled shoes she’d been encouraged to wear, and she was thankful, though mildly contrite, that he knew her well enough to steady her hand even after she’d stood and closed the door.

Sam waited patiently for the chirp of the car alarm being set to echo throughout the floor, then took Charles’ elbow as he offered it to her. “It is only proper for a gentleman to escort a lady, Miss Young,” he’d said to her the first time she had stared at it in confusion, “no matter the destination.” She couldn’t say she fully understood all of the finer details of his etiquette lessons, but the wool of his peacoat did keep her fingers warm while they walked to the elevator, and she supposed it could have been worse.

Once in the elevator, which was blessedly empty, she felt herself taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself before the mayhem of the day. On the one hand, it was a low pressure day; after all, the only thing they really had going on was the party, and the last day before their Christmas break at that. On the other hand, it was at least a half day’s worth of heavy socializing, which had never been her strong point. She tried to exhale as quietly as she could and shifted her bag on her shoulder, wondering how much she could get away with hiding in her office. As expected, Charles picked up on it immediately, but she was rescued by the elevator doors sliding open.

As soon as the office was visible, Sam was taken aback by the enormous amount of decorations that had been placed around the entrance. In the sweeping expanse of the Young Technologies lobby, several imitation fir trees sat, squat and cheerful, dusted with false snow and dripping with garland. Twinkling lights dazzled across the receptionist’s desk underneath a pair of animated, waving moose in Santa hats. As usual, all that could be seen of Lucy was the very top of her hair, bobbing about behind the massive counter. Grinning, Sam went up and leaned against the counter, careful not to disturb the lights. “Great job on the decorations, Lucy.”

As expected, the bubbly secretary jumped, blinked owlishly at Sam, then beamed with her famous thousand-watt smile. “Oh thank you, Sam! You know, just trying to bring a little bit of Christmas cheer in!” She shuffled a few things underneath the counter for a moment, then produced a large packet of folders rubber-banded together. “I know today is the day of the party, but these things came in the mail for you. You also have some messages waiting for you in your voicemail regarding some new potential clients.” She set the folders down on the counter with a whump, then leaned in conspiratorially. “I hung up some mistletoe in the office for you. Maybe you can catch Charles--”

“LUCY!” It was all Sam could do to keep herself from choking, even as she could physically feel the heat of her blush in her cheeks. “T-t-thank you for the mail, I’ll be sure to get started on this right away--”

“Oh, don’t be such a scrooge, Sam!” Unphased, Lucy giggled and sat back in her massive office chair. “It’s Christmas! Live a little!”

It was all she could do to rush back to her office before Umed and the others caught onto her embarrassment. The last thing she needed was to be interrogated about her office crush; she’d never live it down, if the guys didn’t go off to begin with. She wasn’t quite sure why Charles was so unliked amongst the office crew, and Umed specifically, but just the same she’d rather not have that particular conversation right now. Setting her folders down and taking a deep breath, she marveled at how complicated her life had become in the past month or so.

In the end, she supposed having her own office was actually kind of nice. She missed the comfort of her cubicle, sure, but the privacy and silence of her office suited her tastes just fine. Charles had quite an eye for decorating, and she could go about her work largely unbothered by the others. She could even play some music if she wanted to. She turned her computer on to allow it to run its boot cycle, then stepped across the hallway to Charles’ office. Despite the door being open, she knocked softly anyway to announce her presence, and watched as he glanced up from where he was setting his coffee on the desk.

“You need not knock to enter my office, Miss Young,” she tried hard not to notice the minute smirk that curled his lips as he spoke to her, “unless of course my door is shut. We are partners, in a sense, after all.”

“I know, you’ve told me before, it’s just…” She fought valiantly not to clutch at her elbow self-consciously. “It still sort of feels like walking into someone else’s house without being invited, you know?”

“I do.” Sam watched, shifting nervously, as Charles continued his routine of setting his desk before beginning the day. As methodical as he was, Sam figured she could likely set his office up for him at this point, though she couldn’t quite come up with a scenario where she would need to. Her thoughts flipped briefly back to the first time he’d spoken to her on the phone when he’d stayed home to play Ruminate and she daydreamed about it briefly, never having expected that conversation to lead to what it had. Her cheeks darkened just a bit as she thought about the violent surge of butterflies that had bloomed within her when Charles had answered his cell phone, and she was momentarily grateful that those phone calls didn’t need to be a regular thing.

Snapping out of her reverie, she noticed that Charles was seated at his desk, staring at her expectantly. No matter how often she interacted with the man, it was always just a little unsettling to be held within his ice-blue gaze. She returned the curious look with one of her own, pushing Charles to break the ice. “Why are you here, Miss Young?”

“I’m...here for my exercise. You said I had to do it everyday?”

“Ah,” he slid his coffee across his desk to encase it in his palms, and Sam got the sense that he hadn’t forgotten at all, but had rather been testing her to see if she remembered. The thought irritated her a bit. She thought they were past those games. “I had planned on giving you a small reprieve today with the party going on, but since you are here, we may as well get to it.” 

“Y-you didn’t say anything about a reprieve?”

“I suppose not, I’m afraid I have had a lot on my mind lately.” She watched as he rose out of his chair, graceful as ever, and rounded the corner of his desk. As usual, he came to a comfortable lean against the front of the desk and appraised her critically. It had become a routine for them now, these exercises, where first he would critique her apparel and then she would say something that she loved about herself. To her surprise, the whole process had actually gotten slightly less uncomfortable over time, despite still feeling a little like the entire process was a little over the top. Nevertheless, she assumed her power stance, watched as his eyes combed her appearance, and braced herself for his commentary,.

She was still practicing with her wardrobe, truth be told. It was difficult, she had come to discover, to find a happy medium between Charles’ expectations of her and her own levels of comfort and style, but that, too, was becoming less and less burdensome the more she was forced to accommodate it. She’d chosen a pair of fitted black slacks today, topped by a cashmere sweater. It was all tighter than she would have felt appropriate, but judging by the look in Charles’ eyes, it seemed that she’d done well today. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he circled her, slowly, and came to pause directly in front of her.

He was close enough that she could catch the scent of his cologne in the air. It made her heart pound in her chest. 

“You’ve done quite well today, Miss Young,” his voice was low and husky in front of her, nearly a whisper, not meant for the other employees to overhear. Her heart was pounding in her chest from his proximity and she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from where he’s adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke to her. “I must say that I am impressed with how quickly you have adapted to a position so far out of your comfort zone.” 

It was the first time since they had begun the exercise that he hadn’t had at least some criticism for her outfit. She continued to stare hard at the soft flesh of his throat while he spoke, watching his calm pulse throb gently. “T-thanks, Charles. I’ve been working really hard.”

Suddenly, his finger was under her chin, as gentle as ever, forcing her to lift her gaze to his. “And what do you love about yourself today, Miss Young?”

He was still speaking to her so softly. This wasn’t like any of the other exercises and it made her palms sweat against the fabric of her sweater. She was nearly certain at this point that he had to see how unsettled she was. She wondered if he was doing this on purpose, or perhaps it was because he felt more comfortable around her since their dinner date? 

Her thoughts flashed back to that particular evening, just for a split second, and she was assaulted with the memory of how soft his lips had been on her knuckles. As seemingly all of the blood in her body rushed to her face, she cursed her inability to get a hold of herself in the worst possible moments. He was still standing there watching her as her voice caught in her throat, and while she struggled tremendously to get a hold of herself, Charles watched and chuckled. 

“This is new.” 

Sam glared at him. “I love my ability to continue to do this exercise despite the fact that it’s the most awkward thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“Ahh, now, now, Bunty. Am I making you uncomfortable? I merely thought you might not want the rest of the peanut gallery to participate in your exercise with you…” He glanced over her shoulder to where the rest of her coworkers had surreptitiously gathered to eavesdrop at the end of the hallway. 

Sam sighed. This day was not starting out like she had hoped, despite her initial good fortune. 

To her surprise, it was Charles that broke the tension this time, strolling casually over to his briefcase where it sat off to the side on his desk. “While you’re here, Miss Young, I must confess that I have something for you.”

“More than what Lucy already gave me?”

He smirked at her and shook his head a fraction, then slipped a small box from a side pocket. “Not that sort of something. I hope you don’t mind if I give this to you now; I have never been much a fan of public spectacles.”

Sam cocked her head at the box, dwarfed by his hands, until something in her memory clicked together. T-that’s a… That’s a jewelry box!

He leaned against his desk as always, then presented it to her gently. “Merry Christmas, Miss Young. I do hope you like it.”

The box was unexpectedly heavy for its size and she willed her fingers to stop trembling as she took it from him, inexplicably fearful of damaging whatever was inside. Even before she opened it, she found herself battling internally, torn between hoping he didn’t spend too much on her and being flattered that he thought so highly of her. Eventually, she managed to flip open the box and gasped.

Inside, on a white velvet landscape, sat a gilded brooch. It was primarily a lotus flower but had a smaller violet crossed behind it, and she found herself unable to resist running her fingertips along the outside edge of the petals. It was stunning, really, and not something she ever would have thought of for herself. After she'd spent a moment admiring it, Charles' hands came into view and cradled hers softly. "May I?"

"S-sure… "

Sam watched in a daze as Charles delicately extracted the pin from its box and reached forward, sliding his fingers behind the collar of her sweater protectively. She could only fixate on the heat of his fingers on her skin as he pinned the brooch to her chest, marveling at the heat that still lingered even as he stood back to admire her.

"H-how does it look?"

To her surprise, Charles' smile held just a hint of something more. Was he sad? She couldn't quite tell. He reached out and adjusted it just a bit and murmured, "Bron mor brydferth â chi."

Sam tossed him a flat look. "Do you speak Welsh when you know someone won't be able to spell it closely enough to translate it?"

He surprised her with a laugh that time, waving her question off as he shook his head. "I am afraid you give me too much credit, Miss Young. Now then, I believe there is some work to be done before the party begins--"

"Actually, Charles, I--" She swallowed her nerves and tried a smile instead. "I have something for you, too, if I could just go and get it."

"Something for me?" 

"Y-you were my Secret Santa match, but I don't really like public exchanges either."

"I must admit I am intrigued," he settled into his usual stance and rested his chin on tented fingers, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

I wonder if there's still time to give him a gift card. She stepped awkwardly across the hallway where the gift was still nestled within her bag on her desk. Compared to his present, she was beginning to feel like hers was an outright gag gift, even though she had actually put quite a lot of thought into its selection. Still, there was no going back now, she supposed, and so she fished it out of her bag and took a deep breath. Charles was a fan of teasing her, to be sure, but he seemed to have a knack for picking up on things she was truly sensitive to as well. She hoped he didn't hate it.

What if he laughed her out of his office? What if it wasn't enough? Should she have gotten him something fancier? Despite the distance between their two offices being that of a modest hallway, it may as well have been milles for all the time it gave her to overthink things.

Charles was sipping his coffee when she walked back in and she wondered momentarily if it was even still hot anymore. Should she offer to refill it for him? She wasn't entirely sure how he preferred his coffee, but it would be a fine excuse to procrastinate on handing his gift over… 

As Sam fretted in the doorway, Charles watched her, pensive. He'd nearly forgotten entirely about the gift exchange, having reverted to one of the usual generic office-appropriate knickknacks once he'd seen his pairing wasn't Sam or her father. He had watched her closely when he'd handed his gift to her, careful to assess her reaction, but he had ultimately been satisfied that her response had been genuinely happy, much to his relief. It truly did suit her, twinkling softly under the fluorescent lighting in the office. 

At long last, Sam's shoulders slouched slightly and she turned to him with a blush across her nose. "It-it isn't much, but I really hope you like it." She presented the small box with trembling hands. "Just make sure you keep this side up when you open it."

He took the small parcel from her and weighed it appraisingly. It seemed lighter than its size would reveal, with no rattling or any other sounds that might indicate what was inside. It was wrapped beautifully with a large bow and a small tag that said, "Charles" in Sam's chicken scratch. He grinned at it. 

"Thoughtful as ever, Miss Young," and, unable to resist the temptation to tease her further, he slid a letter opener from the pencil holder on his desk. As expected, he could nearly hear his assistant tying herself into knots as he used the slim blade to delicately remove the tape on the wrapping paper, making an exceedingly long show of unwrapping his gift. Just as he could drag the process out no longer, he suppressed a laugh at the low, keening noise of distress he wasn't sure Sam was even aware had escaped through her anxiety. 

At long last, he had mercy on the trembling woman in front of him and slid the flimsy plastic box from its confines. Within the clear container sat a small cactus in a cement pot. A brief glance toward Sam showed him that she was nearly consumed by her nervousness by now, so he made quick work of the protective plastic and slid the little plant out for a better look.

"You got me a cactus?"

"It…" she clutched at her elbow, blushing profusely. "It kind of reminded me of you."

He found himself at a rare loss for words, afraid that if he attempted to speak, his laughter would give her the wrong impression. 

Sam shifted uncomfortably in the silence. "It's pretty resilient and doesn't need a whole lot of care, but it can live in the cold, too. I guess I thought Wales was a lot colder than it apparently is. I can take it back if you don't like it."

He looked back down at the squat, spiny thing nestled into its pot and grinned. "No, no, I think it's delightful, Miss Young. I'm flattered you think so...highly of me as to compare me to a cactus." Try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from chuckling at the absurdity of it. "Are you quite sure it will survive in the office?"

"Oh, yes, I have a few, myself. These lights are--" 

She cut her sentence abruptly and he turned from where he'd placed the small succulent on his desk, curious. Sam was staring hard at the ceiling, deathly still, finger frozen in a point toward the lights. He followed, brows drawn, and glanced to where she was pointing…

Oh.

Hung from a small, inconspicuous hook in the ceiling panels was a small sprig of mistletoe.

“The lights are--”

Charles watched, amused, as Sam fought valiantly to finish her sentence.

“That’s mistletoe.” 

“It would appear so.” He reached up and ran his finger along one of the berries. There was only one person in the workplace with enough tenacity to sneak the small plant into his personal office. He’d have to make a note to address it with her later. In the meantime, he glanced back down at Sam, who, as expected, was nearly on fire from the blush that lit her face. “You know, Miss Young, I’m afraid it is known to be terrible bad luck for a gentleman not to indulge a lady underneath a bit of mistletoe.”

“B-bad luck?”

“Hm,” he frowned a bit, weighing his options. On the one hand, it was terribly inappropriate to engage an employee of his as far as he already had in the office, even if policy did permit it. On the other, he hadn’t stopped thinking about the way she had looked at him over dinner, or the way it had made his chest tighten, despite his best efforts to deny it. He had spent a lot of time trying to remind himself what this sort of attention turned into, and what it would mean for him in the long run, but…

Sam stood quietly, watching Charles battle himself. She didn’t often see him disappear down such an internal rabbithole, and the thunderstorm behind his eyes nearly matched the one outside. It made her heart ache. She wasn’t sure what the man had been through; hell, she didn’t even know his middle name, but she could see the turmoil in his body language as plain as day. 

Was this all because of a little mistletoe? Did Lucy know this would happen? She thought back to the dinner they shared and how relaxed he had been, indulging her endless questions about his playthrough and the way he laughed through the interrogation… It wasn’t her, she was certain of that, so what was it? 

The texture of his lips on her knuckles fluttered lightning quick across her memory once more. 

Was it… Was this a test? 

She peered at him closely, taking advantage of the distraction.

Was he waiting on her?

“C-Charles?”

To her surprise, he startled, just a bit, and brought his gaze to match hers. Despite the thundering of her heart in her chest, Sam found herself unable to stop herself from reaching up and needlessly adjusting Charles’ tie, mildly shocked that he didn’t stop her from doing so. Distantly, Sam could feel her emotions screaming at her to stop what she was doing and do almost literally anything else, but the momentum of the moment had taken hold of her. 

When I get too close, he’ll stop me. He always does. She could feel herself pulling him into her by the tie, completely incapable of stopping herself from doing so, and with each millimeter they closed between them, Sam found herself quickly losing any plausible excuse to explain away her actions. 

Soon enough, however, there was no more distance to cover, and Sam felt, rather than heard, a tiny squeak make its way up and out as their lips closed in on each other, feather-light and trembling.

Whether it was for a second or for an eternity, Sam couldn’t tell. However long it lasted, she could only fixate on the warmth and gentle pressure of his mouth on hers, the smell of his cologne overwhelming her senses, the sound of her pulse rushing in her ears. Having expected to be pushed aside well before now, she startled violently as instead she felt Charles’ hands cup her jaw right before he--

He deepened the kiss.

Her knees trembled violently as he tilted her head, always gentle, always soft when he touched her, and tilted her head just slightly. Just as Sam took advantage of the moment to gasp lightly for air, she found her bottom lip ensnared, could only brace herself against the surprisingly strong muscles in Charles’ chest as he worried her lip between his teeth. The sensation was thrilling and terrifying all at the same time and it was all she could do not to grip the fabric of his shirt and hold on. 

They separated, then, just barely, and Sam froze, terrified to destroy the moment. It was only when Charles moved to whisper to her that she began to feel the distant stirrings of...something deep within her, which only swelled further at the sound of his voice in her ear:

“You make me forget myself, Miss Young.”

“Charles, I--” 

He placed a finger against her lips, which were now swollen from his affections. “Let us table this for later, shall we? I am afraid there is still much to do today, much as I am loathe to postpone.” 

“O-okay, sure,” she tried desperately to get her feet to move and could only force out a small, disbelieving smile, “yeah, I have a lot… to do today.”

A velvety chuckle floated into the office, drawing her attention to Charles sitting at his desk, smirking at her. “Do see me after the party, Miss Young. I believe we have much to discuss.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Charles attend an after-work party with Demetre, which quickly turns into more than Sam would have anticipated in more ways than one.

Had anyone asked her a month ago, Sam reflected, what would have made for the longest possible work day, she might have told them about anticipating a client meeting, or maybe having to do overtime for data entry. Today, she mused, blew those options  _ right  _ out of the water. 

The clock on her laptop ticked silently over to 4:30, the technical end of her day, and yet she still found herself swaying absentmindedly in her chair, mentally unable to drag herself up and out of the memory of how her morning had ended up. For what must have been the thousandth time that day, she found herself reaching up and touching the spot where Charles had nibbled her bottom lip, bringing forth the same dizzying surge of excitement in her body as if it had just happened to her.

_ I kissed my boss. _

The thought of it was nearly comical to her in its unlikelihood, and yet…

_ I kissed my boss in his own office.  _

It was all she could do to shake her head in awe, teetering almost rhythmically between pride in her newfound courage and undiluted terror at the inevitable fallout. She hadn’t really seen him for the rest of the day, though that was to be expected. She was buried in her own mess of client reviews, and while she wasn’t even entirely sure  _ what  _ the full scope of Charles’ job was, it wasn’t often that he found a need to venture out onto the floor. 

The Christmas party had come and gone. Sam received an oversized British flag from Umed, and only after she’d unpacked it fully in her office had she found the note tucked inside the folds, stuck to a custom phone case that was printed with the Ruminate logo: “Make sure you hang this where that towhead can see it. Grats on the promotion!!” 

Lucy had attempted to spike the eggnog, which had been thwarted by Charles, then successfully completed by her own father, of all people. Bonuses had been handed out, much to the delight of all. Umed made a rather impassioned speech about Sam’s proposal, which had immediately inspired Sam to crawl under a desk and hide for the rest of her life.

As she turned her phone over on her desk and saw the logo there, she smiled. She was fortunate to have people in her corner, and who would have thought that such a terrible misunderstanding would have lead to all of this? The proposal was finally ready to receive Charles’ blessing, she had a promotion based on her own merit, and she finally got her first kiss.

Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought.

_ How in the world am I supposed to face him now?  _ Her hands trembled at the thought.  _ I could barely look him in the eye when I just had a crush on him, and now I know what he  _ tastes  _ like!  _

4:37.

She fumbled with her brooch for a moment. Charles had asked her to stop by his office before she left, and she’d gotten so distracted throughout the day that she wasn’t even sure he was still there for her to see. Pile on the concept of walking into his office after what had happened this morning, and she was nearly willing to crawl out the window instead. Still, it wouldn’t do to start getting defiant now, so she sighed deeply to herself and stood, ready to face the music.

_ What if he’s upset now that he’s had time to think about it?  _ She paused at the door, frowning.  _ What if that’s what he wants to see me about?  _ She chewed her lip for a moment, mulling over the thought, unable--and unwilling--to stop herself from remembering why that spot was so tender today. Sighing once more to herself, she reached for the door handle and turned it.  _ Rip it off like a bandaid, Sam. After what happened with Link, it isn’t like it’s anything you haven’t heard before. _

The door swung open to reveal a svelte, lavender-clad chest.

Sam squeaked.

“Burning the midnight oil, Miss Young?”

Sam looked up to see Charles smirking at her, apparently amused by catching her off-guard. “It-it’s only twenty to five, I’m sorry I got distracted--”

“Nevermind that,” he couldn’t quite keep the chuckle out of his voice and Sam glared at him for it, “we have a bit of a mission this evening.”

“A--a mission?” 

“Indeed. Do you remember Mr. Harris, from our meeting a short while ago?”

Sam wondered how she could possibly forget that experience any time soon. The image of Charles’ glare was still a smidge too fresh in her soul for her to repress it. “Yeah, Demetre, right?”

Charles leaned up against the door frame and casually glanced at his watch. “He’s invited us to his company’s Christmas party this evening. He wanted to congratulate you on your first sale and to extend his gratitude for your...integrity,” for a second, his smirk was electric. 

“I still can’t believe you let me walk into there blind like that.” 

“You performed admirably, Miss Young. I never had a single doubt. Just the same,” he reached up and tucked a stray bang behind her ear, “I believe it would be in our best interests to at least make an appearance. It would be excellent training for you to learn to navigate dinner parties.”

It was all she could do not to compulsively smooth the rest of her hair. Something deep within her yearned for him to touch her again, and she quashed it as violently as she could.  _ Not now. Not while he’s right in front of you _ . “Okay. What do I need to do?” 

“The festivities begin at seven-thirty. I can take you home for you to freshen up and pick you up at seven. The building is not far from your apartment.” 

Were it any other situation, Sam might have blushed at the prospect of having a second pseduo-date with the man, but the looming pressure of client interactions crept like chilly fingers down her spine. “W-what should I wear?”

There was that look again, the appraising scan he did right before he tossed her a  _ not bad, but  _ or an  _ I see improvement, however  _ or the dreaded  _ I can see where your intent was… _

“As my date, Miss Young,” he grinned mysteriously, “I suppose you should wear what you would feel appropriate for the occasion.” 

From anyone else, an invitation for comfort. From Charles, Sam knew that words had meaning, and the word of interest this time was  _ date _ . She nodded, and as she followed the blonde out of the office, she tried desperately hard not to panic. 

__

It was 6:57. From experience, Sam knew that Charles was typically right on time if he wasn’t early, and she prayed that he got there before her anxiety blossomed into a genuine heart attack. As she fussed with the loops on the heels she’d worn all day, she hissed lightly and tugged on the ankle strap, trying to move it so that it sat anywhere but directly on top of where she’d nicked herself shaving. Coming to terms with the fact that she was as ready as she’d ever be, she took a deep breath and gave herself one last look in the mirror.

Her outfit was a simple thing: A clingy, burgundy sweater dress with a cowl neck that made her feel a little safer than the plunging neckline of her earlier sweater. She’d affixed her new brooch to the chest of the sweater and admired it fondly, enjoying the way the colors played with each other in the subdued light. The only thing she couldn’t quite come to terms with was how high the hem of the dress rode and she cursed it under her breath as she tugged it down yet again.

_ If I’d have known my damn chest would have pulled this up this far, I’d have picked something else while I still had time… _ She glanced sidelong at her closet, wondering if there was still a moment where she could revert back to her trusted pants, when there was a knock on the door. 

He was there. For her. For their  _ date _ .

Sam smoothed her hair and preened her dress a bit before walking carefully to the door, behind which stood Charles, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. 

Charles had chosen a charcoal sweater over a white collared shirt and a pair of tailored jeans that hugged his thighs just well enough that Sam was able to imagine just a few more details about the man than usual. Instinctively, she averted her eyes, but not before he caught the dusting of pink across her nose. “Miss Young,” he extended a hand to her, “you look a treat this evening. Have you got everything you need?’

“Y--yeah, let me just grab my purse,” the word felt strange in her mouth since she’d never carried one before. Monica had hooked her up with one of her old ones when she’d mentioned that she’d be taking her usual messenger bag to dinner. It had very few things in it, but she supposed it was expected of her to carry one, and her dress had no pockets, besides.

It was a short walk to the car before they were off, and despite noticing the tension in the air, Sam found herself unable to muster a conversation to break it. Charles had told her that they’d table their discussion of what had happened for later, but how late was later? She snuck a glance over at him and couldn’t help but smile, just a tiny bit, in excitement. 

A dinner party with a client, her  _ first real  _ client, with Charles, no less. She’d really come a long way from simply being the shy girl in the cubicle a month ago. It was only after they’d come to a stop light and she suddenly realized she was being stared at, herself, before she squeaked and stared hard out the window. If the chuckle that answered her embarrassment hadn’t been enough, the warm hand that found its way onto her knee was enough to finish her off completely.

With traffic blessedly light after rush hour, they found themselves arriving within minutes. Charles’ hand was still on her knee. Sam swallowed hard.

“Are you nervous?”

“I’m always nervous, Charles.”

“I suppose that is true. Remember what I told you before, Miss Young,” she could have  _ sworn  _ she could feel his thumb stroke her skin, just a little bit, “I will not let anything bad happen to you, so you don’t need to be afraid.”

The last time he’d said that, she’d made a fool out of herself just the same. Even so, she glanced down at his hand, then placed her own over top of it. “I-I know. Thanks, Charles.”

“Shall we?”

The hotel wasn’t anything Sam hadn’t seen before, though it was certainly more festive than usual. It was simple enough to navigate, and Charles seemed to know few people, himself, so Sam was feeling somewhat optimistic by the time they made their way into the banquet. It wasn’t too long before they had chosen their seats, and Charles had gone to fetch them something to drink. 

“Well, if it isn't the lovely Sam Young!" 

She jumped and turned toward the buttery voice, finding herself face to face with Demetre Harris. He was clad in a satiny crimson shirt and had already donned a Santa hat for the evening, and it brought a smile to her face. “Hello, Demetre. You’re looking cheekbone--” she cleared her throat and looked away, horrified, “--cheerful tonight!” 

Had her stumble phased him, he didn’t show it. A deep, rumbling laugh washed over her and she peeked back at him, impressed by his easygoing smile. “Sam, I wanted to personally thank you again for your courage and integrity you showed during our meeting. I hope you never lose sight of that in this business,” he winked at her, then shifted his eyes over her head to a spot behind her, “even under the undoubtedly expert guidance of this guy right here.”

Sam found herself startled yet again as Charles arrived behind her and set two glasses of wine on the table, then braced a strong, yet gentle hand against her lower back. “Mr. Harris, I see you’ve found Miss Young already.” 

“Yes, yes, I was just telling her what a fine job she did. It’s not every day that you get to engage in a bit of verbal judo with a beautiful young lady, is it?”

Sam suppressed a giddy smile at the compliment. She could feel Charles’ hand shift against her, and despite knowing that it  _ had  _ to be her imagination, she could have sworn that she felt him pull her just a touch closer to him.

“Quite rare indeed, Mr. Harris,” Charles’ voice had deepened just a touch and Sam fought the urge to turn her head to stare at him, wondering where all this uneasiness had suddenly come from. Before she got the chance to interject, however, Charles was placing a glass in her hand, then reached for his own. “I am certain you have much to attend to this evening. Please don’t allow us to keep you any further--”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all, really,” Demetre shifted his gaze from Charles to Sam and his smile broadened into a wide, charming grin, “after all, I did extend a special invitation to her. What kind of host would I be if she came all this way for nothing?”

Sam was absolutely certain that she could feel the wiry tension in Charles’ body where her shoulder was braced against him now, and while she didn’t understand it, she was quickly becoming desperate to diffuse the situation for her own comfort. As she felt the blonde take a breath to reply, she reached out and placed a hand on Demetre’s arm. “It-it’s perfectly fine, Demetre, I’m sure we’ll be here for a while. Why don’t we catch up a little bit later, after everything has calmed down a little?”

There it was again: The two of them sharing a strange sort of eye contact over the top of her head. 

“Sure, Sam, you’re probably right. I’ll see you a little later.” 

She tossed him a small wave as Charles pulled her chair out for her. Once they were both seated, she took a moment to swirl the wine in her glass and snuck a peek at her date for the evening, who was still watching Demetre, now engaged with other guests a few tables away from them. His face was completely unreadable, but years of introversion had not failed Sam entirely, and she noticed with no small amount of curiosity that his jaw was clenched just a bit tighter than usual. Figuring she was about as likely to get Charles to confess as to just what, exactly, was going on, she decided to try a different angle instead. “So, um, what kind of wine is this, Charles?”

He paused for just a moment longer before he shifted back toward her, fingers delicately braced against the stem of his own glass. “I chose a Reisling for you, Miss Young. I must confess, without knowing what your tastes are, I made a bit of a gamble. Have you tried it yet?”

She hadn’t. She’d never had wine before, not counting the occasional glass of champagne her parents let her have on the rare New Years Eve she’d been home, and she was a bit nervous about it. What if she hated it? Would he expect her to finish it? Was it expensive? He didn’t seem nearly as tense as he had moments ago, so she risked a tiny sip of the golden liquid, surprised to find that it was actually kind of sweet. Her nose crinkled a bit at the tart aftertaste and she risked a second sip, relieved to find that it was at least palatable enough to make it through the rest of the glass. “It’s...sweet. And kind of sour. And it tastes a little bit like...apples?”

He smiled softly at her and raised an eyebrow. “Had I known I were in the presence of a sommelier, I might have given you more options…”

Sam rolled her eyes. He laughed. They spent the next hour chatting about various things, with Charles teaching Sam about the finer points of wine selection and Sam picking his brain about potential puzzles for a Ruminate sequel. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine that always seemed to appear in front of her just as her glass emptied, or the way that Charles had a knack for knowing just what to say to get her riled up, but she was surprised to find herself actually enjoying the party. It was wonderful, she reflected, to finally feel comfortable enough around the man that she could simply be Sam, and not Sam Young, daughter of Samuel Young. 

The main event was just beginning to wrap up, and none too soon, as Sam noticed that several people were beginning to grow restless in their seats. Dinner had been an excellent spread and she was grateful that Charles had again found no issue with guiding her through formal dinner etiquette. Demetre had made quite a spectacle over their new database, and she hadn’t missed the sly grin he’d tossed her way as he spoke about it, either. Each time the man looked at her, Sam found herself increasingly unable to quell the butterflies that threatened to overwhelm her. His skin reminded her of an expertly pulled espresso, and she was enjoying the attention she got from him, even if she didn’t quite feel like she deserved it.

After what she’d hoped would be the final round of applause, Charles excused himself to the restroom, and Sam noticed that just as he’d left, Demetre was finding his way to her yet again. This time, however, she found that she wasn’t nearly as nervous as she’d been when they had first arrived, and as she caught sight of two devilishly twinkling brown eyes, she giggled, beckoning him over. “Great speech, Demetre!”

“Thanks, Sam. Though, it was really all possible because of you guys. I’m so excited about the MyEqual database. I think it’s exactly what our company needs to reach the next level.” His voice carried easily over the din of the party guests moving toward the dance floor and Sam blushed a bit, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

“I’m really glad to hear that. Everyone else seems to be excited, too.” She finished the last sip of her wine and set her glass down. A moment later, a smooth, dark hand grasped her fingers and lifted gently, drawing Sam up and out of her seat.

“Would you care to dance with me, Miss Sam?” Demetre’s teeth sparkled behind his smile. “I might have two left feet, but that doesn’t mean a man can’t try, right?”

She laughed, feeling bashful, and shook her head. “I’m a terrible dancer, Mister Demetre,” she answered his unusual formality with one of her own, grinning when he smiled at it, “and especially in these heels--”

“Nonsense, nonsense, come on,” he turned to lead her towards the floor, “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Ah, but I think--” she stumbled for a moment, unstable on the plush carpet, “I think I should probably tell Charles where I’m going--”

“He’ll be fine, Sam--”

“I think, Mr. Harris, that she is quite capable of making her own decisions.” 

Sam jumped, startled by Charles’ voice behind her, but even further by his hand holding hers. Torn between following Demetre and sparing Charles the headache of finding her, Sam froze for a moment, then sighed in irritation as the pieces all clicked together. She offered a tense smile to Demetre, determined to sort things out. “D-do you mind excusing us for just a moment?”

“Of course, Sam. Come find me when you’re done. Offer still stands.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as he’d let go of her, Sam turned toward Charles, who was once again glaring at the man who had asked his date to the dancefloor. “Charles.”

“Hm?”

“What is going on with you tonight?”

“I am merely looking out for you, Miss Young.” He turned his gaze back onto her and noticed that the blush that still stained her cheeks matched the color of her dress, which had ridden up dangerously high on her thighs. Frowning, he impulsively reached out and tugged the hem of the dress down sharply, then watched in irritation as it bounced back nearly to where it sat to begin with. “Not only is Mr. Harris our client, he seems to have little discretion regarding the attentions of an intoxicated girl--”

“ _ Girl?”  _ She glared at him, all hints of flirtation effectively erased now. Her tone startled the blonde, and she took advantage of it to drag him out into the hallway, deliberately ignoring her awkward, wobbly ankles as she relied on her irritation to imitate confidence for the time being. The alcohol in her system certainly helped.

Once safely in the hallway and away from the brunt of the crowd, Sam turned on Charles, who was still staring at her in shock. “Is that what this is to you?”

“Is--what--”

“I noticed you two have been acting weird around each other all night and I think I finally understand it.” She folded her arms, tugging the hem just a touch higher, and Charles found himself unable to stop himself from sneaking a small glance at the place where the deep burgandy of the fabric contrasted with the pale flesh of her bare legs. “C-Charles--”

“Miss Young.”

“Are you  _ jealous _ ?”

The word sent a jolt through his body. “I beg your pardon?” A few of the guests who had arrived late and were still lingering by the sign-in table glanced over at them, curious about the disturbance. He glared at them in irritation and grabbed Sam by the elbow to guide her further down the hall where they could speak privately. When they were safely out of earshot, he turned back to her, ready with his retort, but what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks:

Sam stood there, hands on her hips, staring him down defiantly. The few glasses of wine she’d downed had properly hit her by now, bringing a light flush to her cheeks and highlighting her pale skin against her outfit. Her shoulders were square and, despite the light tremble in her legs from balancing on her shoes all evening, the muscles in her thighs were just visible from where they shifted underneath the hem of her dress, deceptively strong for her size. He hadn’t seen her look like that since the day he’d threatened to fire Lucy, and although he valiantly attempted to play it off, he found it a great deal more difficult now that he knew what her lips felt like between his teeth. “M-Miss Y--”

“Stop it.” She took a few strides toward him and turned her eyes upward toward his own. “You’ve been saying this entire time that you want me to build confidence in myself and act like a woman,” as she spoke, he caught the scent of wine and perfume in the air, “and now that I actually  _ have  _ some confidence in myself, it’s like you’re mad about it.” Perhaps it was the few drinks he’d allowed himself to have this evening, or maybe it was the way she finally, fearlessly spoke her mind to him, or it simply could have been their proximity, but Charles was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on Sam’s words in favor of watching the way her lips moved when she spoke to him. “I was enjoying being treated like a woman instead of a child, for once.”

He cleared his throat, weighing his options. His commitment to keeping his hands off of her was being overtaken with frightening momentum by his desire to see just how far he could push her newfound courage. She was close enough now that he could see the minute gold flecks in her brown eyes as she continued to glare at him. Her hands flexed on her hips and her weight shifted, giving him an agonizingly clear view of the curves of her body. On the one hand, he could simply point out her intoxication and take her home, which is probably what he  _ should  _ have done, had she not decided to stare him down like a lioness.

What he  _ could  _ do, however, was vastly more tempting, and after her little stunt in his office, he had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn’t mind  _ terribly  _ much if he were to just…

Instead of indulging her argument, Charles surprised her by taking her by the hand and guiding her, with no small amount of urgency, into an unused banquet room a few feet behind them. A quick glance around showed him that they were alone and, with the lights being off, unlikely to be disturbed any time soon. He held the door for her as he pulled her inside the room, then as soon as he was satisfied that it was shut and latched, he quickly pinned her against it, holding both of her wrists firmly, but gently, against the heavy oak.

As expected, she immediately lost all of the fire she’d built up and instead gasped out her surprise. The blush had returned to her cheeks and she didn’t resist him when he leaned in to whisper to her, just as he had in the office, knowing the effect it would have on his young assistant. “The only man who should be showing you how a woman should be treated this evening, Miss Young, is me.” 

Her body shivered beneath his in response. “C-Charles, we’re in public-”

He released one of her wrists and pressed a finger to her lips, noting with a small amount of satisfaction that she left her hand where it was despite the lack of restraint.“That... _ incident _ in my office has yet to be discussed, does it not?”

As expected, Sam turned wide, fearful eyes to his, but his finger held true, silencing any protests she might have had.

“You made it quite difficult to focus for the rest of the day, you realize,” he watched as confusion slowly overtook the fear in her eyes. He was taking this much farther than either of them had anticipated at this point, he knew, but she wasn’t pushing him away, either. Emboldened by her lack of resistance, he persisted, dragging his fingertip down against her lips to prop her chin up, preventing her from looking away as he continued. “I  _ should  _ write you up for insubordination.”

It was impossible to look away from her as she licked her lips and swallowed. “...b-but?”

He chuckled and dipped his head, taking her earlobe between his teeth and soaking up the way her body trembled in response. “But something tells me there might be a better way to address this. Just between us, perhaps?” He nipped lightly at the back of her ear, then leaned away from her entirely, just in time to see her brows furrowed in disappointment. “Unless, of course, you would have me stop--”

“No.” Her eyes slid open and pinned him where he stood, cloudy with lust and just a little bit of apprehension. “I don’t… I don’t want you to stop.”

It was easy, then, to offer her a soft smile as he used his free hand to cup her jawline. “An excellent answer,” he murmured, pleased that she trusted him enough to tell him directly. Letting go of her other wrist, he moved his hands instead to her thighs, allowing his fingertips to trail, feather-light, against her skin until they hit the hem of her dress. It was faster than he would have normally preferred, but the adrenaline from being in such a public place was rushing through his veins and, he figured, if it went well, he’d make another opportunity to take his time later. For now, he bent a knee and guided it between her own, encouraging her to widen her stance a bit, careful not to overstretch the hem of her dress that now rode up to reveal the pastel cotton of her underwear.. 

She was afraid, that much was obvious, but her determination to press forward encouraged them both as she braced her forehead against his chest. Carefully, he slid the backs of his fingers against the insides of her thighs, deliberate in his movements, insistent on going just slowly enough for her to stop him if she changed her mind. Instead of halting his movements, however, she reached up and gripped onto his biceps for support, and he wondered if she was at all aware of the breathy moan that whisked past her mouth, much less the intoxicating effect it had on him. 

_ I’ve barely touched her and already she’s so willing…  _ He felt himself straining against his pants already, desperate to find himself inside of her but committed to showing her the right way first. Slowly, so slowly he continued his upward ascent until the fingertips of his right hand could just stroke the fabric of her panties, eliciting a startled jerk from her body. Knowing that if he didn’t contain her at this point, she’d likely give them away, he reached up with his left hand and buried his fingers into her hair, gently tilting her head back so that he could distract her further. 

“Shhh, Samara,” he whispered against the side of her neck as he pressed further, hooking his index finger into her panties and pushing them aside. She was soaking wet and trembling under his touch now. He nipped playfully at the back of her jawline while he brushed his knuckle against her pink flesh, maddeningly gentle, needing to tease her until she nearly broke under his hands. Charles could feel her fingers tighten on his arms as her hips shifted, desperately seeking more of his touch; he indulged her by sinking one finger deep inside of her.

What he  _ didn’t  _ anticipate was the moan she bit back as a shiver ripped through her body, and he pressed her mouth against his shoulder to stifle the sound, fearful that they’d be heard. When her body stilled, she tilted her head back to whisper to him, bashful. “S-sorry, I couldn’t help--”

He tightened his fingers in her hair and smirked at her, cutting her off. Instead of letting her go, he answered her by adding a second finger to the first, stroking her walls, refusing to let her come down from her high just yet. While she pressed down into the slow rhythm, mewling quietly against his shoulder, he stroked her hair and murmured, “Can I trust you to be quiet, Samara?”

“P-probably not,” she gasped, half distracted by what his fingers were still doing to her. 

“Well, that simply won’t do, will it?” He leaned away from her just far enough that he could look her in the eye, deceptively sensitive despite the increasing pace of his teasing between her legs. She was biting down on her lip hard enough that he could see that it was swollen already, and he brushed his thumb against it, gently pulling it from its confines and soothing it while he worked. “If you can’t be quiet, I'm afraid I shall have to stop."

"C-Charles… _ please… _ "

"Please...what, Miss Young?"

He grinned to himself as he felt her knees begin to buckle. 

"Please d-dont stop…"

"I am afraid I must insist--" he paused for a moment so she could swallow a throaty moan, "--lest we find ourselves in a spot of trouble."

"Okay, I-I promise," she gasped quietly and ground down onto his hand, "I can be quiet. I can be quiet-" he shifted inside of her and she sucked in a gasp through her teeth.

"Good girl." He placed his finger against her lips once more as a final warning and then knelt in front of her, taking the opportunity to shift his manhood up and into his waistband while he tended to her. At long last, he halted his ministrations and slid her panties down her thighs, nibbling gently at the soft, pale skin dangerously close to where she needed him, still unable to keep himself from teasing her fully. 

To his surprise, Sam lifted a foot to step out of the cotton around her ankles, and so he indulged her further, sliding them off of her other heel and slipping them into his pocket. There was nothing more to be done, then, other than to lean forward and taste her gently, sampling the delicate taste of her earlier climax. To her credit, she bit down on her knuckles to keep her promise, her other hand clinging tightly to his shoulder.

He knew she was close already--it had been an unexpected challenge not to finish her off  _ too _ soon--but it was probably for the better, as they had already been gone much longer than could easily be explained away. Still, he mused as he suckled at her most sensitive pearl of nerves, it was delicious to tease her until she was scarcely able to hold herself up. Sneaking a glance upward, he smirked softly, drinking in the sight of her head tossed back in ecstasy.

Oh, how maddeningly difficult it would be to face her in the conference room having  _ that  _ view in the back of his mind…

At long last, he finally took mercy upon her and buried his fingers inside of her once more, marvelling at how deliciously tight she felt as her body squeezed him in response. He worked her with the flat of his tongue until her thighs clenched around his head and trembled violently, her hands clasped tightly over her mouth, and he hummed proudly as she rode it out under his touch--she never made a single sound.

While Sam leaned against the door and recovered, Charles took a moment and wiped his chin, smirking softly at the sight of her. It didn't take much to put his hair back into place and at long last, he offered her panties back to her without fanfare, careful to assess her after she'd come back down. He watched her passively as she tidied herself and then took a deep breath, finally steady on her feet.

"Are you alright, Miss Young?"

"I'm--yeah, I'm fine, but what about you?"

He chuckled quietly and smoothed his thumb against her cheek. Truth be told, he would be uncomfortable for some time, but that wasn't for her to take care of. Not this time. "I assure you I will be quite alright. This evening was all about you, after all."

She took a moment to process what he'd said through the fading fog of pleasure, and, predictably, he watched the anxiety quickly take its place. "Is this...it?"

"Hm?"

"I mean," she shifted nervously on her feet, nearly unable to look him in the eye. "I-is this…" Her hands worked uselessly in front of her to try and pull the words from the air to no avail. 

Charles watched as she fumbled awkwardly and then finally understood, offering her a quiet smile as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "One step at a time, Miss Young. There is a great deal we have left to unpack from all this." Once he was confident that she'd fully composed herself, he opened the door, glanced around the empty hallway, and finally encouraged her out. 

As they made their way back to the party, Sam couldn't help but allow a small, disbelieving laugh to escape. Charles answered her by draping a hand around her waist and pulling her close to him while they walked. She wasn't entirely sure what this meant for the two of them, or how long it would last, but for now she enjoyed the heat of his body against hers and the way that he gave her his private, knowing smiles from time to time. 

For now, she was somebody's something, and that was more than enough.


	3. Chapter 3

It was late.

They’d returned to the party no worse for wear. Demetre hadn’t even really noticed they were gone until they’d come back, his concern for Sam just barely overriding his insistence on showing her around the dancefloor. Charles hadn’t been thrilled, but his attitude had changed once Sam had made an incredible display of stepping around Demetre’s feet in an awkward, fumbling way before returning to the table a blushing mess. She’d asked if it was too early for him to take her home, and he’d taken mercy upon her, reminding her to do her rounds of goodbyes amongst her potential long term clientele. The temperature had dropped unexpectedly and Charles had insisted, yet again, on lending Sam his jacket. 

She tugged it tighter around herself, enjoying the way the heat from the seat warmers sunk into her body. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating and lulled her into a half-waking state, assisted in no small part by the deep growl of Charles' car going full bore.

Charles had been strangely silent on the short drive to her apartment, though Sam was lost enough in her own thoughts that she hardly paid it any attention. It was difficult to keep her mind from wandering back to the things the blonde had done to her that evening, and every time she found herself daydreaming about it, the harder it was for her to resist shifting around in her seat. He’d shown her the tip of the iceberg earlier, and she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want more.

It wasn’t long before they came to a stop outside of her building, and Sam watched with mild interest as Charles gently tilted the shifter into neutral and pulled the parking brake. His car purred, patient and quiet underneath them as they both turned their eyes toward Sam’s apartment. When Charles made no move to step out of the car as he usually did, Sam picked gently at a hangnail, plagued with frighteningly similar memories of a different blonde man from not long ago. She’d put herself out there, then, and she’d been crushed, even if it had been as gently as her friend could manage. Was it even worth it to try again? Would Charles be kind to her in his rejection, or no?

“I suppose this is you, Miss Young,” Charles’ voice was quiet enough that it was nearly difficult to hear him over the sounds of the engine.

“I guess you’re right.” Neither of them moved. Sam tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, wondering what to do. “Would you…” She swallowed, her throat dry with anxiety, trying to force the words out. “Would you like to come in?” She nearly flinched as soon as she heard how she sounded. She might as well have been asking him if he wanted to add anything to a store list. 

To her surprise, a velvety chuckle answered her. “I...am afraid I must decline your offer, Miss Young, no matter how tempting it may be.”

It was impossible to hold back the sigh of disappointment that swept from her. Shot down again. May as well take it all the way home… Feeling bolder from their earlier encounter and, at the very least, wanting one last selfish memory for herself, Sam reached over and placed a gentle hand on Charles’ thigh, blushing a bit at the way the muscles tensed underneath her palm. Even as naive as she was, her eyes didn’t miss the soft bulge between the man’s legs. 

So, he’d been distracted on the way home, himself… 

She trailed her eyes up the length of his body, which was bent in a casual lean against the door. When their gazes met, Sam’s blush deepend once she realized he’d been watching her the entire time, unabashed. 

“Why?”

A pale eyebrow raised at her question before he swallowed his answer and sighed, shifting his stare down to where her hand still trembled against his leg. “I am certain, Miss Young, that once I have you alone, I...will not be able to stop myself.”

Sam blinked in shock. That certainly wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. Links words still echoed painfully in the back of her mind, so she dug further, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Why...would you want to stop now?"

A gentle scoff, and then, as if afraid it would break by his very touch, Charles took Sam’s hand from his leg and pressed it against his chest, his palm over top, allowing her to feel his heartbeat. He stayed like that for several moments, holding her prisoner with his eyes and his touch, and then:

“You have no idea the effect you have on me, do you, Miss Young?”

Sam frowned, torn between feeling concern at the pain behind the rare admission and fixating on the flat, warm strength she could feel in his chest. “Then...don’t.” She slid her hand from underneath his and instead smoothed it up along his body to press it against the side of his neck. Again he surprised her by allowing himself to be pulled toward her, leaning in until their foreheads met. She had a desperate need to be close to him now that she’d gotten a taste of him, and even though she knew she had to be making the most awkward show of it, she was encouraged by the fact that his actions didn’t yet match his words. “I already told you, I don’t want you to stop.”

The slightest tremble rippled through his body and he shook his head at her, cupping her chin in his palm. “Are you quite sure?” 

Sam smiled at him and nodded. It was much easier to be strong for others, and the look in his eyes, for just a moment, told her that he needed it just as badly as she did.

“You have no idea what you’ve just agreed to, Samara.” Turning from her, Sam watched as Charles regained the confidence she found typical of him, turning the car off and stepping out with his usual flourish. She waited obediently until he circled the car and helped her out, except this time, instead of offering her his elbow while they walked, he slid his hand low and rested it on the outside of her hip underneath his jacket. The sensation brought a blush to her cheeks. She liked how strong his hands were.

Once at the door, Sam took a moment to fish for her keys in her purse, acutely aware of how closely Charles stood behind her. Her heart was thundering in her chest at the implications of what she’d just invited him in to do, and yet, she also found it difficult to be as frightened as she thought she would be. On the one hand, they were moving  _ awfully  _ fast, having just shared their first kiss this morning. On the other… She slipped the key into the deadbolt and unlocked the door, jumping at the sensation of Charles cupping her behind as they entered her apartment.

On the other hand, he’d kept his promise to her so far. He hadn’t let anything bad happen to her, and although she found him infuriatingly unyielding at times, she had to admit that she liked who she was when he was around. 

Sam had just a moment to flip the deadbolt back into place and set her purse on the counter before she felt two hands gather her hair away from her neck, the precursor to a set of teeth playfully nipping at the soft flesh they found exposed.

_ Damn, he moves quick! _ She felt her knees tremble at the sensation just before an arm slung itself around her waist supportively, pulling her against a body like a stone wall. It was all she could do to lean her head away and indulge him, biting back a gasp when she felt a wet tongue teasing at her earlobe.

"Ch-Charles, we should--" she shivered as he swept his bottom lip down her neck, punctuated by his breath sliding across her skin, "--we should move to the bedroom, it's just down the hall--" her words were clipped and spaced between panted breaths, and he answered her with a quiet, deviant laugh behind her ear. 

"Patience, Bunty." He stepped away from her, sliding his jacket off of her shoulders and hanging it neatly over the back of a kitchen chair. When he turned back to her, he'd noticed that her ankles had begun trembling once more, unused to being in heels for so long. While he had planned on dragging this out further, the pout on her face at his gentle scold went straight to his loins, and so he switched tactics, instead. "Tsk, come on, then."

Sam blinked at him, bewildered by his sudden change in demeanor, then squeaked as he bent and swept her up into his arms. A deep, crimson blush spread like watercolor across her nose and she stared openly at the blonde. It was a strange sensation, being carried, and she watched in curious fascination as he took her down the short hallway, careful not to knock her head on the corner as they padded past. 

When they arrived in Sam's bedroom, he placed her down onto the bed, but held a hand over hers when she reached down to remove her shoes. "Leave those on."

"M-my shoes? Wh--"

A gentle finger against her lips, admonishing her protest. Before she could respond further, Charles turned on the pillar light next to her bedside table and then walked over to the expansive glass doors to pull the blinds neatly shut, taking care to ensure that they wouldn't be seen by any passersby. Despite the late hour making foot traffic highly unlikely, Sam found the consideration comforting, and so she waited and watched in silence.

Upon his return, Sam noticed that Charles adopted the power stance in front of her and nearly laughed at how natural it seemed for him, impressed even when faced with the man's obvious arousal at face level. Before she could point it out, however, he had her chin in the palm of his hand and lifted, ever so gently, encouraging her to stand in front of him. 

Just as soon as she'd stood, Charles' hands were at her thighs, thumbs hooked underneath her dress. Sam realized his intentions a scarce moment before he'd executed them, sweeping her dress up and over her head in a fluid motion. She could immediately feel her blush spread all the way down her chest at the sudden chill against her skin, as if to needlessly remind her of her nudity.

It was then that Charles leaned in close, hands pressed firmly against her back, and whispered to her, "Lie back." Those same hands guided her down onto the bed and he waited for her to scoot backwards, instinctively moving to cover herself as much as she could. 

"Ah, Samara, there's no need to be shy now," he murmured to her through a grin, fighting the urge to drag her to him by the ankles and devour her. He had to be patient, he owed her that much, and although he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was taking something of the purest nature from her, the way that she looked at him was rapidly turning his internal battle into a one-sided war.

Kneeling delicately at the foot of the bed, he lifted her ankle in his hands, watching her closely as he slid the thin strap of suede from its buckle and released her foot from its confines. Before he moved to the other, however, he smiled devilishly and raked his teeth across the arch of her foot, slowing to place a gentle kiss on her ankle bone. 

Sam squealed, then clamped a hand over her mouth and glared at him, shyness all but forgotten for a moment. 

Unable to suppress his laughter but relenting just the same, he braced her bare foot against his thigh and turned his attention to the other, making short work of the black heel and dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor. It felt natural, then, to smooth his hands up her shins and over her knees to her thighs, which quivered under his touch. 

Sam watched as Charles continued his slow prowl, stalking the lines of her body like a predator, and fought valiantly against the urge to cover her body. She was completely out of her element, much like she always was where Charles was concerned. Still, the way that he looked at her and the way that his hands seemed to find an endless amount of delicious little dips and curves made her feel like she was something to be desired, for once, instead of a child. 

It wasn't long before Charles found himself at eye level with her, gazing down upon her with a hooded, lustful stare, and she wasn't able to resist turning away from him. Where she had expected him to turn her face back toward his, however, he merely took advantage of the exposed flesh, worrying her earlobe between his teeth as his hands slid underneath her body. 

As soon as Sam felt her bra clasp unhook, her body tensed, but Charles gave her no time to express her reticence before he hooked his fingertip into the undergarment and lifted it off of her body. 

She laid there exposed to him, heart pounding and skin flushed, hands shaking at her sides. Charles shook his head at the sight of her, then reached down and ran a single fingertip along the swell of her breast. "You are truly a sight to behold, Samara." She felt her blush deepen at the compliment and watched, holding her breath, as he dipped his head to take her nipple in between his teeth. 

One swift glance up at her was all the warning she received before he descended upon her fully, sucking the pink flesh into his mouth and pressing his face into the rest of her ample landscape. 

"Hah--!" She felt her body jolt at the sensation, reflexively sinking her fingers into his hair, not sure of the way it felt but needing more of it just the same. He hummed against her as a reward and worked her further in between his lips before pulling back, Cheshire grin in place. 

Sam glared at him the best she could. He was teasing her and she knew it. Still, as he buried his face into her chest, inhaling deeply and pressing both of her breasts against his cheeks, smothering himself in her body, she couldn't help but wonder how she could encourage him further, to see more of this wild, unrestrained side of a man who was usually so well-kept.

Well… She stifled a giggle and smoothed the wild frock of hair under her palm, gel all but a memory after she'd attacked it earlier. She could think of at least  _ one _ thing. As Charles worked his way down Sam's body, peppering her pale flesh with the smallest licks and nibbles here and there, Sam could feel her heartbeat racing in anticipation of where she knew he was headed. Even though they'd done the same thing a scant few hours earlier, in  _ public _ , no less, somehow it all felt entirely new now with her clothes off and the lights on.

In his typical maddening fashion, Charles wasn't about to let her just have what she wanted, smirking to himself as he propped one of her thighs up onto his shoulder. He could tell by the way her body was responding to him that she wanted him, badly, and he was more than happy to oblige...eventually. Knowing full well that he was being a brat, he caressed her with his mouth over the fabric of her panties, barely there, then moved into a more deliberate path down the inside of her thigh. 

As he'd expected, Sam let loose a low, strained moan, cut back by the knuckles she'd shoved between her teeth. He chuckled, then came back across on a second pass. By this point, her arousal had soaked through the delicate fabric and the smell of her hit his senses like a drug. Despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to bury himself to the hilt inside of his assistant's tight body, he persisted, needing to hear her let go first.

Daring her with his eyes, he held her gaze steady and made sure that she watched him as he snuck the tip of his tongue out, tasting her through dampened cotton. A startled, breathy moan slipped from her lips.

_ Almost, but not quite good enough…  _

Knowing full well that he would have to insist, he leaned back and dragged her last remaining slip of modesty down her legs, agonizing in his lack of urgency, drinking in the sight of her nubile body as he went. How could he have not known what was right in front of him all those months? What delicious torture it would have been to be the gatekeeper of her secrets while she worked, with the image of her flushed skin and doe eyes clouded with desire…

As her panties fell to the floor, he pinned her beneath him and snagged her chin softly in his fingertips. "Now, don't hush your voice,  _ Enaid _ ," he purred to her, "I want to hear it." He could feel her heart pounding in her chest as he slid his fingertips down her neck, her breasts, her belly, until finally pausing to take her hip in a firm hold. "You don't have to be quiet here."

"Charles…" The way she said his name was heavy with need and shot like lightning through him, the last bit of resolve he had within him shattering to powder at the implied request. 

In response, he dipped down, taking her fully into his mouth and sucking deeply, drinking of her body, pressing at her pearl roughly with his tongue. She would be quick on this one, he knew, and he wanted it out of the way for her next bout of training. To his delight, the moan that came from her was clear and loud, her hips dipping to meet his actions in desperation, and he rewarded her by continuing without interruption. He could feel her juices begin to drip down his chin and--

_ WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP _

They both froze and looked up at the sound, confused.

"Hey!" A muffled, male voice through the wall. "What did I tell you about headphones!?" 

Sam looked down at Charles between her legs, horrified. He met her gaze with a stifled laugh, which triggered her into a fit of embarrassed giggles.

"I can't have your sexy times in the background of my video!"

"Oh, my  _ God, _ how embarrassing--"

Paying it no need, Charles merely smirked and doubled down on his ministrations, slipping two fingers inside of her while he worked her with his tongue. As he'd hoped, she immediately responded in kind, shivering through her pleasure and mewling her encouragement under her breath. It didn't take long for her thighs to clench around him and for her body to quake while she climaxed. He soothed her for a moment after, then dragged a palm down his chin and reclined next to her. 

She was beautiful like this, he reflected. All remnants of her constant anxiety and self-consciousness expunged, she laid there next to him breathless and smiling, just herself, just for him. A frighteningly possessive feeling ripped through his body and he stifled it violently, refusing to indulge anything close to those skeletons in his closet when he had her next to him now. Still… 

He reached out and trailed a fingertip along her belly, soaking her in. He supposed that if he did have to break it to her that he was a broken man underneath it all, he could at least keep this memory for himself. At least that much was safe. His mind skated dangerously close to dredging up memories of the first woman he'd ever been privileged enough to see like this, and he nearly fell victim to it until Sam reached up and tugged lightly on the collar of his sweater.

"Charles?" She looked up at him in concern. He had that look in his eyes again, the one that reminded her of winter thunderstorms and frosted glass. Nearly as soon as she said his name, she watched as his face shifted into a deliberately relaxed expression. She frowned. "Are you alright?"

His smile was genuine, at least, when he gathered her hand into his so that he could kiss her fingertips in apology for his distraction. "You are too kind, Miss Young, but I assure you I'm quite alright." 

Having regained her senses a bit, Sam gave the man a once-over. He was still fully clothed, coated in a light sheen of sweat and disheveled from his attentions to her. She blushed a bit at the realization that had now taken care of her  _ twice  _ without asking anything for himself. Judging by the thick bulge that strained within his jeans, it most assuredly was not because he didn't have needs similar to her own. She wondered if he'd allow her to sate her curiosity, or if this was as far as he was willing to go with her. 

"Ch-Charles, is it alright if I…" She wasn't quite sure how to phrase it, knowing in her mind what she wanted to do to him but failing to find words that didn't sound crass or childish. Fortunately, he was as observant as he ever was, and so he placated her anxiety with a soft laugh and threaded his fingers into hers. 

"Come here." 

Sam watched Charles recline onto his elbows, motioning for her to straddle his waistline. Once she was situated, he nodded to her and placed her hands at the hem of his sweater until she finally caught on, lifting it up and over his head just the same as he'd done for her earlier. Her fingers were shaking as she reached for the button at his shirt collar, but the affectionate, almost proud look in his eyes pushed her to undo one, then another, revealing inches of pale skin as she went along. 

She thought back to the first time she'd seen him shirtless in his office, blushing at her after she'd yelled at him for his behavior toward Lucy. As each button slid from its confines, more and more of his body could be seen, including the remnants of the terrible bruises he'd sustained not long ago. The second time she'd seen him shirtless, she mused, when she'd been so distracted by his injuries she'd completely forgotten to be shy.

This time, again, was altogether different, as she finally pulled the white linen out of its disheveled tuck and pulled the shirt wide open, pushing it back and off of his shoulders. This time, he was there only for her, inviting her touch instead of admonishing it, allowing her to explore him at her leisure. He was well-built but slender, would likely never be overly large despite his obvious workout regimen, and she smiled a little at the way his shoulder muscles shifted under the weight of supporting his torso. 

The man was  _ gorgeous _ , there was no doubt about that. 

Whether it was something in her body language that tipped him off, or perhaps in her eyes, Sam didn't know. Somehow, Charles took notice of her sudden reluctance and pulled her gently down to his level, brushing his lips along her jawline until their mouths nearly met. His gaze was intense and his hands were tangled into her hair when he whispered to her, "Keep going."

Before she could answer, he snagged her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling a gasp from her while she took his shirt the rest of the way down his arms. He allowed her to kiss him, then, while he lifted his hands to swing the shirt off to the side, then released her to undo the buckle on his belt. He was impressed by her boldness, even if she were faking it for his benefit. Soon enough, he was lifting his hips to allow her to slide his jeans off, and took advantage of her immediate distraction to toe his socks off with them. 

Sam sat back on Charles thighs and swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes away from the outline of his manhood that could be easily seen in the fabric of his boxer briefs. He watched her, expression unreadable, and reclined all the way back to pillow his head on his arms. Sam glanced up, then back down, then steadied herself with a deep breath.

She was startled, just for a moment, when his flesh leapt beneath her touch as she ran her palm up the length of him, marveling at how smooth and firm he felt under the thin fabric. It was the sudden breath that rushed from him, and the way that his eyes shut in response, however, that truly encouraged her further, and she tried a few more experimental strokes to see if she could elicit the same reaction.

Charles hips bucked up and into her hand and he stifled a groan, knowing it wasn't her intention to tease him. Her touch was so shy, and her curiosity so genuine that it was slowly tearing away at his resolve to take things as slowly as she wanted. Planting a foot behind her, he turned, cradling her body in one arm as he flipped them both. Sam gasped as he pinned her, wrists next to her head, just as he'd done at the hotel.

To his surprise, she giggled and leaned up to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. "What happened to, 'patience, Bunty'?"

He growled under his breath. She  _ was _ teasing him. He let go of her hands and reached down, slipping his boxers off so that he could finally press himself against her fully, hissing at the way her skin felt against his. He'd been needing this for hours now and knew that it would be a challenge to last long enough to get one last scream out of her for the evening. 

Sam sucked in a breath between clenched teeth, chest tight, at the feeling of Charles pressed into her hip. Her heart was thundering with fear and arousal and even though he had taken the lead, she found herself still at a terrible loss of direction. It wasn't until he leaned away from her to reach down onto the floor, retrieving a condom from his pants pocket and moving to place it on himself that it really,  _ finally _ sunk in what was about to happen. 

Sam chewed her lip and tried valiantly to put on a brave face, but the light tremble throughout her body betrayed her to the blonde. Where she expected him to scold her for her anxiety, however, Charles simply finished equipping himself and then lay next to her, pulling her into a surprisingly gentle embrace.

"There is still time for you to change your mind, Samara," he kept his tone light on purpose, despite the ache between his legs. 

Sam shook her head. "I...really do want this. I'm just--" she reached up and traced the curve of his collarbone, desperately wishing her hands would stop shaking for once, "--I guess I'm just nervous."

He brushed her bangs aside. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Roll over."

Charles positioned himself between her legs, pausing to allow her one last chance to protest, to stop him from taking this from her. What he saw instead, however, was just Sam's open, vulnerable stare, her lip trapped within her teeth, her full body blush, her hair messy and wild. She did trust him, he could see that plain as day, and as he slid himself into her as carefully as he could, he felt just a bit of tension in his chest break away, as if ice cracking in the springtime sunlight. 

Her body responded to his slow, strong thrusts deliciously, her hips tilting to meet his until she matched his rhythm in kind. He found it impossible to resist pressing his forehead into her shoulder while he kept his pace deliberate, lost in the feeling of her walls squeezing at him while he penetrated her. It was unlike anything he'd gotten used to as of late, nearly painful in its intimacy compared to his structured, cyclical trysts with Miss Rosewood, and far from the frenzied, severe episodes he'd entertained with Eva. Instead, it was simply the two of them moving in unison, with Sam's breathy moans in his ear and her hands roaming his back and nothing to worry about except the way her body seemed to pull him in as deeply as he could go.

Unwilling to let himself go until he was satisfied that he'd pulled at least one more climax from her, he punctuated his thrusts with a deep, hard kiss under her collarbone before he leaned back and pulled her toward him, tight to his body. Just as soon as she'd shifted her legs around him to accommodate, he reached down with one hand and thumbed at the swollen bundle of nerves above where he'd buried himself, stroking her in small, controlled circles until she was nearly mad with the pleasure of it.

Smirking at her, he kept his pace, leaving her teetering on the edge of ecstasy. "What did I tell you about keeping quiet?"

Sam glared at him, though the effect was thoroughly weakened by the mask of pleasure that softened her features. "Ch-Charles, he'll hear us--"

"Let him." He continued to tease her, shifting his hips to stroke her from the inside out as well. "How badly do you want this, Samara?"

Sam squirmed, desperately trying to subvert his intentions to no avail. The tension in her body was at a screaming high, and she was  _ so close _ , and the smirk on his face burned like embers above a body that glistened in the low light of her bedroom. She could feel it building deep in her belly, climbing through her like tendrils of electricity until she could hold it back no longer. At long last, she could feel what pitiful, tenuous hold she had on herself slip away from her and she groaned, deep and desperate. "Charles,  _ please-- _ "

It was all she'd needed to do. He rewarded her by immediately hastening his pace at her epicenter, stabilizing himself with his other hand around her thigh as he thrust into her in earnest, sending her directly over the edge in delirious, screaming relief. He watched, transfixed, as her back arched and her delicate fingers fisted themselves into the comforter. The fact that no one else had ever seen her like this,  _ not even her _ , intoxicated him in a rush and he tossed his head back, losing himself in the way she throbbed around him while she climaxed.

He could feel his own pleasure building and knew it wouldn't be long before he found his own satisfaction inside of her, and so he leaned down to cover her quivering, damp body with his own. Her breasts pressed against his chest while he pinned her to the mattress with his bodyweight, careful not to crush her but needing to be closer to her. As the fire in his body grew to an uproarious din, he lost himself for a moment and kissed her fully on the mouth, drawing her tongue against his own and savoring the way she tasted until at long last, he could contain himself no longer.

His breath left him in a hiss, teeth bared and brows drawn tightly as he found his release, nearly transcendent in its intensity. Sam gasped at the sensation, tightening her thighs around his waist and drawing him further in, carefully memorizing the look on his face and the way he pulsated inside of her with each gasp that escaped his throat. 

For a long moment, they simply laid there, breathless and unable to think beyond the way their bodies felt still entangled with each other. As Charles pulled himself from her and released a long, shuddering breath, Sam watched him, caught in a rare state of sated exhaustion. He leaned down, pressing his mouth to the top of her forehead; it wasn't quite a kiss, but it made her smile just the same, and she allowed herself to sink into the bed while he excused himself to the restroom.

She'd done it. And, all things considered, it had been wonderful. She'd be sore in the morning, she knew, wincing mildly at the ache that was already beginning to present itself in her hips, but she quickly realized that she had no regrets about any of it. The only real, remaining question that lingered in the back of her thoughts was whether he'd planned to stay or not, but it was short-lived, as he returned nearly as soon as he'd left. 

"I thought you might prefer to clean yourself up a bit before we settle in…" Charles handed her a towel and she was curious to find that he'd run it under some hot water until she actually pressed it against herself, the heat in the cloth delightful against her sensitive flesh. 

While Sam worked diligently to make herself more comfortable without exposing herself further, feeling inexplicably shy despite what she'd just shared with the other man, Charles pulled the linens back on the bed and shut off the light. Sam tossed the rag out into the basket in the hall and slid in next to the blonde, who had propped himself up on one elbow to gaze down upon her.

She let him watch her as long as she could until the unwavering stare made her feel more bashful than flattered. "What?"

He chuckled quietly in the dark and reached out to brush his thumb across her cheekbone. "I know you have always been this beautiful," his hand dropped and lay still on the mattress, "but you do continue to surprise me, Miss Young."

Her cheeks burned and she rolled her eyes at him to deflect the compliment. "Wait until you see my raiding outfit," despite herself, she giggled at the thought of Charles' face if she showed up in her old sweats and slippers, "that'll really knock you dead."

The noise that escaped him was a peculiar cross between disgust and amusement, which sparked her into an outright laugh. It was only after he'd settled in, half asleep, that she felt comfortable enough to reach out and hold his hand gently between hers. "Hey Charles?" She whispered it, half hoping he'd be too tired to bother. 

"Hm?"

"T-thanks." 

Her only answer was the hand she held gently squeezing her own in the dark. 

\---

Charles straightened his belt a touch and closed the door softly behind him, having insisted that Sam remain in bed and sleep in after their late evening. The sun was almost aggressive in its vibrancy and he hummed quietly to himself, enjoying the crispness in the morning air. 

He turned to proceed down the outdoor steps to the parking lot and nearly bumped into another male, clad in an oversized sweatshirt and basketball shorts, stretching and pawing grumpily at one eye. 

For a moment, Charles' smirk was electric.

The other male startled, then stared openly, eyes shifting for a split second between the blonde and the apartment he'd just left. Charles clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, slinging his jacket onto his other shoulder, and tossed the young man a firm nod.

"Benjamin."

  
  



End file.
